


What The Fuck's A T'hy'la?

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arguing, Bickering, Bottom Dean, M/M, Rimming, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean watch a movie and they can’t help but argue about it. It doesn’t stop when they fuck, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What The Fuck's A T'hy'la?

When Dean lifts the remote, the bunker’s living room turns silent. He puts it down, then reaches for the other. The disc player loses the extra light. He frowns and leans back into the sofa. Sam watches him, eyebrow raised, and turns in his seat beside him. Their knees touch, but Dean doesn’t speak. Sam knocks them together, shifts so one leg is off the floor and bent up on top of the cushion.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So, what did you think?”

“I told you what I think.”

Sam sighs. “That was before the movie, Dean.”

“And?”

“And now you’ve seen it?”

“I was right.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“You really gonna bitch when your goddamn movie stole, what, three hours of my life?”

“God, Dean, it was only just over two.”

“Jesus. Give me Hell all over again. I’da had more fun.”

Dean pushes himself up and takes the disc from the machine. He glares at it before he clicks it back into its box. It’s shoved back into place on the shelf and Dean drops back to his position beside his brother. Sam shakes his head.

“You never like what I try and show you.”

“Because you like crappy movies.”

“No, you have Eighties’ taste.”

“Nothing wrong with the Eighties, Sammy.”

“Uh, yeah, there is. You don’t like anything new, Dean. Cars, music, movies? It’s the same thing.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘traditional’.”

“Huh.” Sam fixes him with a cool stare. “Ear worms and bad acting are ‘traditional’.”

The elbow into Sam’s ribs makes him hiss. Dean smirks, satisfied, until Sam knocks him back. Dean launches from the arm of the sofa and kicks out, but Sam grabs his arms and wrestles him back. He grins. They squirm, legs trapped in legs until Dean is shoved onto his back. An arm flails out. There’s a clatter. They pause and Dean snaps his head around. The bowl and half-eaten popcorn are strewn across the floor. Dean holds up a hand and Sam lifts himself.

“You little bitch.”

“You were the one that knocked it.”

There’s a huff and Dean sits up. He gives up on stretching from his seat and hoists to his feet. When he bends over to start scooping the popcorn out of the way, he yelps. His ass jolts at the hard crack. Dean looks behind him and Sam’s grin is wider. He rolls his eyes and keeps picking at the rug. It’s going to be a bitch to vacuum. Dean uses the side of his palm to sweep as much of the dust into the bowl. He half expects another ass-slap, but hands find his hips. Sam moves behind him and lines up. He butts his groin forward. A tug and Dean’s pulled back so Sam can grind against him.

“God, you look great like this.”

Dean smirks. “Ass up in the air? I thought you liked staring into my sweet green eyes. ‘Cos you’re a girl.”

“Says the guy with my dick in there most days.”

“Screw you, Sammy.”

Sam laughs. He lets his hands roam up Dean’s sides. When they find his shoulders, they pull again until Dean stands upright. Arms loop around Dean’s waist and Dean leans back, lets Sam kiss the back of his neck, behind his ear. Dean groans. Sam’s hand slides down and his fingers unbutton Dean’s shirt bottom to top. He taps through the undershirt, then bends his fingers until they brush bare skin underneath it. Dean’s breath hitches.

“Bedroom?”

Dean nods. “Bedroom.”

The hand against Dean’s back pushes him on until they find Sam’s room. Dean’s shove at the door makes it bang, echo, but Sam slams it back behind them. Dean turns around and Sam’s on him. He grabs the back of Dean’s neck and their mouths crash. Dean groans again, parts his lips and Sam’s there, their tongues meet. Teeth get in the way and Dean hisses when he’s not careful enough. He’s guided back and laughs into Sam’s mouth when the mattress hits his legs.

They fall down, together, and Dean pants out a winded breath. Sam pulls back. He’s methodical. His hands work on years of memory to undo Dean’s belt, unfasten the jean button, tug the zip and yank them off. He drags Dean’s boxers down with them roughly enough for Dean’s erection to swipe up.

“Jesus, Sammy, you wanna rip it off?”

“God, you’re so hard.” He grins. “Must be all that great acting.”

“You really wanna turn me off, making me think about Mr Gay Cheekbones?”

Sam kneels on the bed, straddled over one of Dean’s legs. He grasps Dean’s cock and starts rocking his wrist. “Still hard, Dean. He doing something for you?”

“Damnit, fuck. He’s shitty, man. Just, Jesus, talk to me about overacting. Whoever let him audition needs salt-and-burning.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “That coming from the school of Shatner. Uh huh.”

He lets go of Dean and stretches up to take off his shirts. Dean leans up on one elbow and runs a hand over Sam’s stomach. He fumbles, but Sam’s already there. He doesn’t need to wait and strips. Dean’s shirts are still in the way, so he pushes Dean onto his back again and rolls them up. Dean moves for him and as soon as they’re free, he spreads his legs. Sam slips into place and presses his hips forward.

“C’mon, Dean,” he pants, “the new one’s a better Kirk and you know it.”

“You shut your bitch mouth and get the goddamn lube.”

Sam’s cock slides up against Dean’s when he reaches to the bedside table. Dean’s twitches against him. Lube in hand, Sam bites Dean’s jaw. His teeth scrape the start of Dean’s shadow and Dean catches his mouth. The kiss bruises lips and Dean jars his hips up. They grind new-sweat slaps and mixing precome against each other’s stomachs. When Sam uses his thumb to flick up the cap, Dean’s fingers bite down Sam’s ribs. They find his ass and squeeze, keep him down when Dean rocks up. The noise of lust, broken moans and needy whimpers are maddening.

“Sammy, fuck, you don’t get down there fast, you’re going in dry. Get in me, you goddamn bitch.”

Dean might growl, but it makes Sam laugh. “Better idea.”

“No ideas. No talking. Fuck. Now.”

Sam drops the lube to Dean’s side and spots the flicker in Dean’s eyes. He moves back far enough to hold Dean’s knees apart. He lifts them slightly, pushing them further apart.

“You gonna fuck or paint a goddamn picture?”

“I kinda like seeing you like this.”

“Bite me.”

“Close.”

Before Dean can question him again, Sam bends down and kisses the inside of his thigh. Dean arches his neck to watch, but Sam’s mouth is already at the side of his cock. He groans, tongue against him. Sam licks from root to tip and hollows his cheeks to suck. Dean gasps. He grabs a fistful of Sam’s hair, but Sam smacks at his wrist.

“Let me do this.”

“If this is like getting me to see _Into Darkness_ , you got another thing coming.”

“You’ll like it.”

“You said that about those assholes.”

“Don’t you wanna mix it up?”

“Tradition, Sammy. Ass. Dick. Now.”

“No way.”

Sam draws one of Dean’s balls into his mouth and Dean shuts up. His throat is full of curses. Sam’s nose is at his root and he nuzzles as he sucks. He pulls back and blows softly over the newly-wet skin. Dean shivers. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sam shakes his head. He’s kissing again, kissing over him. Another pulse of precome escapes Dean’s cock and Sam slides his hands underneath Dean to lift him. More kisses wet over Dean’s balls, then lower. He tongues at that stretch of skin beneath him and Dean complains, pushes down. It takes more energy and a scowl from Sam to force him back into position.

“Dean, I swear to God—”

“Then get moving.”

“I am, just let me do this!”

They stay still for a moment. Dean thinks about complaining again, but Sam glares at him until he sighs. He won’t push it with a thank-you. Instead, Sam grazes his teeth down. His tongue follows. When he kisses pink, Dean hisses again. Sam’s next kiss is harder, the next worse. He circles his tongue over Dean’s rim. Dean tenses. Clenches. Sam moans. His hot breath and a lick against that hole drags another gasp from Dean.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy!”

Dean digs his hands into the back of his thighs to keep himself spread apart. Sam concentrates on keeping Dean’s ass spread. He pushes his tongue deeper. Dean clenches and unclenches. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Sam grins and licks again. He breaks it with another kiss, but Dean rasps. Another lick rolls over and the tip pushes just inside him. Sam’s nose is hard under Dean’s balls, chin wet as he spits out and licks further inside him. It’s only Dean’s grip on himself that keeps him firm in place.

“Shit, you gotta, if you’re not in me when I come, I’m gonna fucking gank you, I’m gonna fucking blow your goddamn brains out!”

“Okay, okay!”

Sam pats the bed for the discarded lube and finally squirts his fingers. Dean’s hole shines with Sam’s tongue, but it’s not enough. Breath sucks through teeth when Sam pushes two fingers straight in. The lube was still cold, but Sam rocks fingertips slowly. It warms. It warms and Dean relaxes, lets his head fall back to the pillow behind him.

“Better?”

“Getting there, dude. Hurry the fuck up.”

Two fingers turn into three and they twist. They bend and flex when Dean clenches. He draws them in further and he could have been punched in the gut with the noise he makes. Sam smiles wide and brushes a fingertip against that sensitive spot. When he pulls his hand free, Sam groans at the space he’s made. He kisses the tip of Dean’s red cock and stays on his knees when he drags Dean’s hips down towards him.

“You like it?”

“Like what? Jesus, c’mon!”

“Tongue, ass?”

“Yeah, sure, you ate my ass, it was pretty damn peachy, but—”

“So new things can be good, right?”

“Whatever you say, now move it!”

“You’d like more if you had an open mind.”

Dean growls. “You still talking about that piece of shit? Sam—”

“You’re just saying you don’t like it because it’s not how it used to be.”

“I’m saying I don’t like it because it fucks with what _Star Trek_ ’s supposed to be. Lens flares and fucking chick flick moments. Now fucking fuck me!”

Sam pushes the tip of his cock inside him and Dean calls out. He grimaces, but Sam sinks deeper. Dean tightens and loosens himself, sucking in until Sam’s balls are at his ass. He’s so full that he chokes, chest red, lines of sweat down to his abdomen, mixed with hints of his come. The hands under his thighs retract and hold onto Sam’s forearms, the forearms that hold Dean’s sides. Sam starts to move, starts to thrust and Dean lets go of one arm to grasp himself. He squeezes his cock whenever Sam hits deepest and cries out. His eyes are full and he pants hard, mouth slack.

“God, Dean, you’re, you’re perfect, you’re—”

He loses his voice when he fucks harder. Sam loses his rhythm and bucks. Skin slaps together, damp with sweat, and Sam’s eyes are locked on Dean’s fist. He’s pumping roughly, thumb spreading the build of his release. Sam groans when he comes. Every muscle shudders with tension, with more tension of keeping himself held up, deep in his brother. Dean isn’t long. He hisses at himself, he strokes until he paints his chest.

Spent, Sam has to pull out. He holds out another second to watch his come leak from Dean’s hole, but he has to lie down. Dean lets his legs slip down the mattress, eyes closed. It’s Sam that turns to lean into Dean’s side, and Sam’s arm that folds over his middle.

He laughs. “You know, we’re like Spock and Uhura. I mean, Dean, you know I love you. And just because you don’t say it, I know you love me, too.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. He turns his head, eyes dark. It was the wrong thing to say. After all this time, Sam thought that he could just come out and tell him. His afterglow dies under Dean’s cold glare. His laugh fades. Dean’s a stone under his touch.

“Dean, Dean, I’m sorry. I, I shouldn’t, I know it’s hard for you, I do, it’s, it’s just—”

“Cut it.”

“Please. Don’t. Not after we—”

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“Dean. Dean, wait.”

It’s too late. Dean forces himself up. He doesn’t care that he’s aching. He drags himself to his feet and snatches his jeans from the floor. His silence thickens the room and Sam tries to follow. He tries to put a hand on him, but Dean walks forward a few steps to keep away.

“C’mon, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sam chokes. He scrambles to his feet and begs. Dean stands in front of him, jeans just up around his hips. He hasn’t zipped up before Sam’s hands are at his shoulders.

“Dean, I didn’t, please. I didn’t mean to.”

“Screw you. Spock and Uhura? I fucking hate that movie, Sam. Uhura’s supposed to fucking love Scotty, and don’t you dare try and tell me otherwise.”

Sam sobs in relief. “You, you’re mad because—?”

“You don’t go screwing with what the goddamn show is, Sammy.”

“Dean, Dean, you’re right. You’re right.”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I get it. You’re right.”

“Damn straight I’m right.”

“You maybe, you wanna come back to bed, and—?”

There’s a moment when Sam isn’t sure what Dean will do. He swallows. Dean watches, then lets out an irritated sigh. He drops his jeans and sits back on the bed.

“Okay. But don’t come crying to me when you’re back in there cleaning up that fucking popcorn mess.”

Sam nods. “Okay.”

They fold around each other until Sam’s a big spoon and he can hold Dean’s heartbeat in his palm. He can go clean up for him later, that doesn’t matter. He relaxes, smiles. Whatever Dean thinks, he’s his Uhura. If Dean doesn’t think so, well, Dean can go suck it.


End file.
